STROKED LONG Read Free Page B

room stills as his gaze is pulled away from his phone and he studies me, a slight tilt to his head. Blinking rapidly and turning away with a shake to his head, he says, “Um, so tomorrow. Just come to my place. I like to stay private. Put your number in my phone.” He hands me his phone abruptly and pulls on the back of his neck while I type in my number.
    Just because I am the way I am, I create a new contact for him, putting my name in as Ruby *heart emoji* followed by an “s”. So clever.
    When I hand him back his phone, I expect him to smile, maybe grin at me, but there is no change in his stone-faced façade.
    “I will text you a time and my address. Please don’t share my number with anyone.”
    “Wouldn’t dream of it. You can trust me, Bodi.”
    Curtly, he nods and steps aside. I watch his retreating back when he stops and faces me again. He points to my face and asks, “Are you going to have that cleaned off by tomorrow?”
    “What, you don’t like raccoon glitter eyes?” I do a little side-to-side head dance for him while moving my body up and down and snapping my fingers at my side. “I think it’s very becoming.”
    No response, just a nod, and he’s off toward the door. It’s mesmerizing the way his shoulders flex under his shirt with each movement as he walks away. I would say I’d love to see him without his clothes on, but almost everyone in the world has seen that body. It’s hard not to. He’s all over the Internet as best swimmer’s physique.
    There’s a dispute between who’s hotter: Bodi or Reese King. Yes, Reese has the dark smoldering look going for him, but Bodi? There is something about his light brown hair, dark blue eyes, and damaged soul that calls out to me.
    There is no contest where I’m concerned.
    Not that it really matters though. Bodi is a business associate I’m now working with on a project that actually might be a lot of fun. At least it will get me out of the babysitting job for a little bit and get me into something a little more unique, something of higher caliber then teaching kids how to properly wash paint brushes.
    Tomorrow night can’t come soon enough and not because I will be going to Bodi’s house, but because I will get the chance to start something new and refreshing. Maybe I can put all my skills to use.
    Returning to the classroom, I take a quick peek at my phone because I’m that excited about starting this project, not because of Bodi or the way I could see his six-pack through his shirt. There is a text from a strange number. I know it’s him because he tells me.
    This is Bodi. Tomorrow, 8pm, no dinner just work. 8 walnut dr.
    Well, he gets to the point, doesn’t he? Just because he said no dinner, that doesn’t mean I can’t make dessert.
    As I gather the rest of the paint supplies and clean them out, I think about all the desserts I can make for Bodi. If anything, I know how to paint, draw, sew, organize ribbon, scrapbook, and bake. I’m a regular fifties housewife. Time to turn that fifties charm on Bodi. Just so I can make him smile.
     

Chapter Two
    BODI
     
     
    Doors locked.
    Floors cleaned.
    Carpets vacuumed.
    Bathrooms bleached.
    Doors locked.
    Windows locked.
    Dishes in the dishwasher.
    TV dusted.
    Garbage taken out.
    Doors locked.
    I go over my nighttime ritual in my head, over and over again, repeating my checklist, double-checking my precisely laid out list.
    Scanning my open-concept condo that overlooks the ocean, I take in everything. Chairs are lined up along the back of the rug, remotes are perpendicular to the TV, throw blankets are rolled and organized by color in the basket, counters are completely clear, and all the doors are locked. I double-checked them along with the windows. Three times. Reiterating in my head their strength and the alarm system I have in place, to let me know if there is a lock out of place.
    Now I just have to wait . . . for her .
    Ruby Hearts was not my first choice when it came to working on